


A Place to Get Clean

by longleggedgit



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-02-04 23:40:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12782154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longleggedgit/pseuds/longleggedgit
Summary: Inui ends up an unexpectedly successful business co-owner, who, even after years without contact, remains hopelessly in love with Kaidoh. He also remains a complete slob in need of a housekeeper.





	1. Summer & Snow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [don_amoeba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/don_amoeba/gifts).



> First chapter of a WIP! End product should be somewhere in the ballpark of 60k. I'm very excited to be writing the slow burn InuKai futurefic I always dreamed of :) Thanks Don!!
> 
> This chapter is rated G!

For a moment, when Inui first woke up, he couldn't remember what exactly the dream had been about. He just knew the sound of his alarm was especially unwelcome this morning; he moaned as he groped for his phone on the bedside table, knocking a book and his glasses to the floor in the process.

He'd set his alarm for forty minutes earlier than usual. That was odd. Inui blinked blearily at his phone screen, frowning, just as the event reminder popped up: _Echizen 8:30._ His morning meeting came back to him then, at the same time as the dream. Inui lay back against the pillows and closed his eyes, trying his best to recall the details. It had been high school, but different, the size and colors of the buildings and tennis courts all wrong. They were supposed to be playing a match, but there was an unexpected blizzard. Kaidoh was next to him on a bench, watching the courts fill with snow.

"You wouldn't have played anyway," Kaidoh had said.

Inui turned to ask what he meant, but Kaidoh was already walking away, moving through snow up to his knees as if it were nothing. Inui wanted to follow but he was suddenly freezing, shivering on the bench, unable to move. Kaidoh disappeared before Inui could lift a hand.

The alert on Inui's phone buzzed again. He swiped it away, then checked the weather forecast.

"Thirty-eight degrees," Inui muttered to himself, but he felt vaguely chilled as he rolled out of bed to search for his glasses.

 

 

"You need to shave," Echizen said, by way of greeting, when Inui stepped into the conference room.

Inui lifted a hand to touch his chin. He knew he'd forgotten something this morning.

"Echizen!" A woman Inui didn't recognize, but assumed must be Echizen's agent, snapped at him, then bowed her head apologetically.

"Good to see you again, Echizen." Inui smiled, and the agent relaxed. Hagiwara-san, Inui remembered; they'd only talked on the phone, but he was trying to get better with names. "Don't worry, Hagiwara-san. We don't need to be too formal here."

"Good, because this one's terrible at it." Hagiwara cast a glare over her shoulder at Echizen, who flopped into one of the office chairs and put his feet up on the conference table.

"Some things never change," Inui said.

Hagiwara continued glaring, now directly at Echizen's feet, but she seemed relieved that Inui was unfazed by her client's personality. "Regardless of Echizen's attitude, please trust that we really are very eager to start a relationship with Hakaju, Inui-san."

Inui smiled again, and gestured to an open seat at the table. He and Hagiwara sat down on either side of Echizen. "We're excited as well. My business partner will be here soon to explain the paperwork. He's better at that sort of thing than I am."

"Then what do you even do here?" Echizen said.

It was almost cute, the way Echizen couldn't help himself. Inui continued to smile. Hagiwara started massaging her temples.

"I invented the material making up the soles of the shoes you're wearing," Inui said, pushing Echizen's feet gently off the table. He was fairly certain Echizen already knew that, but he liked saying it out loud anyway. "I'd be happy to go into more detail about the process, if you're interested. It's actually a fairly simple rubber composite, with a few minor adjustments to the—"

There was a knock on the door, and Renji stepped in a moment later, cutting Inui off. Inui didn't miss that Hagiwara looked at least as grateful at Echizen for the interruption.

"I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting," Renji said. He bowed to Echizen and Hagiwara in turn, then shook their hands for good measure. "Shall we get started? Would anyone like a coffee?"

Three coffees, one Ponta, and four and a half hours later, Hakaju Sports Gear was officially sponsoring its first up-and-coming pro tennis star.

"He certainly hasn't changed," Renji said, waving as Echizen and Hagiwara climbed into a car with tinted windows.

"He's taller," Inui pointed out.

"Mm. But no more mature."

They waited until the car had pulled away before turning back into their office building. Renji led the way to the elevator.

"Dinner tonight?" he asked, pressing the up button. "We should celebrate."

Inui nodded. They would have a company celebration on Friday, but he preferred take-out and beer with Renji to formal events. "I recorded last night's U.S. Open."

"Your place, then."

 

 

The train ride home was hot. What Inui liked least about working in business was having to wear a suit every day. He had thought initially that being co-owner of a company would mean he didn't have to dress like a salaryman, but Renji had rid him of that delusion rather quickly. And, Inui supposed, that careful attention to business formalities might be a large part of why Hakaju was doing so well.

"You could start taking a car home, you know," Renji said. He was sweating in his jacket, too, his arms weighed down with beer and take-out curry as he waited for Inui to find his card key.

Inui frowned and swiped them into the lobby of his condo. "It would take longer than the train."

Renji snorted. "But we wouldn't have to spend half an hour marinating in the smells of Tokyo commuters."

Inui relieved Renji of the beer, still frowning. He wasn't quite used to having so much disposable income yet. "I'll think about it."

They made their way up to Inui's condo—one of only two units on the top floor of the building, an extravagance Inui had to admit he rather enjoyed—and Inui kicked off his shoes and led Renji into the kitchen.

"I'm going to change," he said, bending to put the beer in the fridge. "Do you want a t-shirt?" When he straightened up again, he realized Renji wasn't listening to him. Instead, he was staring at the kitchen sink.

"What is that?" Renji pointed to a pitcher that, admittedly, should have been soaked and scrubbed out a while ago.

"It was a smoothie," Inui said.

"It's black."

"The dishwasher's broken."

Inui decided against admitting he had broken it by leaving it full of dirty dishes for so long the insides had grown several distinct varieties of mold. "I'm going to change," he said again.

Renji was on the couch eating curry out of the container when Inui returned. Inui took a seat beside him, setting his own curry and beer down on the coffee table.

"Sadaharu."

Inui grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. "Renji?"

"You're living in a den of filth."

Inui had suspected that was the direction this conversation was headed. "It's not that bad," he said. He turned on the DVR and began searching for the Open.

Renji stretched out his leg and pushed the coffee table forward, revealing two plastic bags stuffed full of old take-out containers. "Those are from the last time I was here."

That was true, but Inui didn't see how it was relevant. "Did you already watch the Nadal match?"

 _"Sadaharu."_ Renji had taken on a serious tone that Inui didn't hear very often; he reluctantly put down the remote. "I'm worried about you."

"I'm fine. I've just been busy. _We've_ been busy."

Renji's eyes were trained on him, tangible even though Inui was careful to keep his own gaze restricted to his food.

"We're only going to get busier," Renji said.

This was also true. Inui glanced around them, at the trail of dirty laundry leading out of his bedroom and the four bags of recycling he hadn't gotten around to taking downstairs yet.

"I'll clean this weekend," he said.

"No, you won't." Renji took a swig of his beer and picked up the remote. "I'm finding you a housekeeper."

With that, he pressed play on Nadal vs. Djokovic, and the conversation was over. Inui supposed there were worse things, and settled back against the couch cushions. "This is a good match," he said.

"I fell asleep before the final set."

Inui fell asleep before the final set this time, waking up much later to Renji shaking his shoulder.

"Sadaharu," Renji said.

"Mm."

"Are you going to bed, or is that covered in garbage, too?"

Inui reluctantly opened his eyes. "I was dreaming," he said.

Renji lifted an eyebrow. "About what?"

It was already slipping away from him; Inui furrowed his brow, straining. "Snow," he said at length. "And Kaidoh."

Renji was silent for a few moments. Finally, he sighed and stepped away from the couch. "Go to bed, Sadaharu."

Inui dragged himself off the couch and into the bedroom, echoing Renji's final good night just before the front door closed. Even though his eyes were burning and his limbs heavy with exhaustion, it still felt like hours before he fell back to sleep.

 

_Sadaharu,_

_I contacted a cleaning service and they'll be sending someone twice a week, starting tomorrow. You need to sign the attached waiver. Sign it now or you'll never do it._

Inui squinted at his email on his phone. It was too early for waivers.

 _Twice a week seems excessive,_ he sent back, before getting into the shower. When he got out, there was already a reply. He read it while toweling his hair.

_I would've thought so too, before I saw your bathroom last night._

Inui looked at his email, then over his shoulder at the bathroom. He dropped his towel on the floor, pulled on a pair of underwear, and signed the waiver.


	2. 3000 Calories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Inui's housekeeper is too efficient, and Echizen almost gets naked for a photo shoot.

When Inui got home on Wednesday, all his clothes were gone. He dropped his jacket to the floor in the genkan and stepped over it, narrowing his eyes at the place where he definitely remembered shedding his nightshirt that morning. It wasn't there, just like all the rest of his laundry wasn't there, not in the hallway nor the doorway nor the bedroom floor beyond. He stepped into the bedroom, stunned to find his bed made, and the collection of dirty mugs on the floor next to his bedside table absent. His phone buzzed in his pocket, then, and Inui stepped back out into the hall.

"Renji," he said, by way of answering. "All my things are gone."

"Pardon me?"

"My clothes. And my dishes."

"Are they gone, Sadaharu, or have they been moved? To different places? Places where, for example, one might store clothes and dishes?”

Inui paused, then looked over his shoulder into the kitchen. He could see, distantly, a line of clean mugs through the gleaming glass of his usually empty cabinets. When he stepped back into the bedroom, he found stacks of clean clothes folded and placed carefully in dresser drawers, the nicer things ironed and hung in the closet.

"This must have taken a very long time," Inui remarked.

"The first person they sent in this morning quit." Renji sighed, and Inui decided that probably wasn't hyperbole. He could practically hear Renji's fingers massaging his temples. "Sadaharu."

"Yes?" Inui was opening every drawer he came across now, marveling at their contents. There was one in the bathroom that held nothing but three toenail clippers Inui had believed to be long lost.

Renji paused, then sighed again. "Nothing. Just—read the guidelines they left you. The cleaner only comes during the day, and you have to give 12 hour notice if you'll be home during that time. 24 hours for cancellations."

"I think I should meet them in person next time just to apologize," Inui said, but Renji cut him off.

 _"Don't,"_ he said, sharply. Inui lifted an eyebrow but said nothing. After another moment's pause, Renji added, "Just. Leave the details to me. And try to be a little less disgusting from now on. For the cleaner's sake, at least."

"If you insist."

Inui spent the rest of the evening re-discovering his apartment. He couldn’t remember exactly when the cleaner was scheduled again, but he scrawled a fast note on a scrap of paper and placed it squarely in the middle of the coffee table:

_Thank you. Sorry for all the mess._

 

 

He was late to work the next morning because he couldn't find his ties.

"I couldn't find my ties," Inui explained, when Renji raised an eyebrow upon his entrance. "Did you know I have a tie rack?"

Renji put his planner down on his desk, slowly. "You're late because you discovered you have a tie rack?"

"It's collapsible," Inui said. "Attached to the side of the mirror. The mechanism is actually quite fascinating."

Renji remained steadfastly uninterested. "Echizen is waiting for you in the conference room. I tried to entertain him myself, but I fear I almost lost us our deal."

Inui wondered if Echizen had commented on Renji's hair again, but that was a sore spot, so he decided not to ask.

"What time is the photo shoot?" he asked instead, on his way out the door.

"Hagiwara has the day's schedule."

 

The day's schedule ended up being fuller than Inui had anticipated. He didn't like photo shoots; there were too many people asking too many questions he didn't know the answer to, and a constant cacophony of urgent voices and too-loud background music. Plus, the lights gave him headaches. Echizen, at least, was doing a surprisingly satisfactory job of following the photographers' orders, maybe because he was naturally inclined toward exactly the sort of pouting and glaring they wanted of him.

"Would you rather he be in the Michael Korrs stole for this next shot, or the Fendi, Inui-san?"

Inui paused in rubbing his temples to blink at the options on display before him.

"I—" Inui squinted at both, unable to find a distinguishing feature between them. "He's only modeling footwear, isn't he?"

The stylistlowered both stoles and looked thoughtful. "I suppose we could try a nude to contrast the shoes," he said. "I just wasn't sure he was of age—"

"The Fendi," said a voice from behind Inui's shoulder. "And please don't make him strip."

Inui turned gratefully to greet Renji. "Finished with paperwork?"

"Hagiwara is thorough. It makes my job easier."

Hagiwara was interrupting the shoot now, requesting a break, just as the stylist had been approaching Echizen with a stole. The Fendi, presumably. A second stylist called out for fifteen, and the call was echoed throughout the nearby assistants and photographers, until the set began to empty and Echizen stepped down from his perch on the hood of a rust-bitten car.

"Well done, Echizen," Inui said, as he and Hagiwara approached.

Echizen shrugged.

"He hasn't eaten since eleven," Hagiwara said, looking around anxiously.

"I'm not hungry."

"3000 calories a day, Echizen!" Hagiwara snapped. "Don't think I didn't notice you only had one piece of toast for breakfast!"

"The catering table is across the hall," said Renji. "I was just heading there myself."

"I'm getting you a plate,” Hagiwara said, her finger pointed directly at Ryoma’s face, “and you are going to eat everything on it."

She turned on her heel, leaving no room for argument, and followed Renji out the stage doors. Inui and Echizen were suddenly almost entirely alone on a set that had previously been overrun with more than thirty people.

Echizen folded his arms and huffed. "I play tennis fine without 3000 calories a day."

"She's quite right to enforce a strict caloric intake," Inui said, relieved to have something to talk about that he understood. "A pro athlete needs to consider long-term health, not just short-term."

"Whatever."

"If you prefer not to eat traditional meals, I've been experimenting with a new pickled plum protein gel. I think it's nearing perfection."

A combination of disgust and real fear flashed in Echizen's eyes. He took a step back. "No thanks."

"I'll have some sent to you in case you change your mind."

"You should stick to shoe rubber, Senpai."

It had been a long time since anyone referred to Inui as _Senpai._ He hummed, wondering why hearing it made him feel a bit off-balance, as if he had just missed a step on the stairs.

"Perhaps," he said, after a moment, only once he realized his silence was probably drawing out a bit too long.

"What does Kaidoh-Senpai think of your shoes?"

It was like missing the whole flight of stairs, this time. Inui's stomach lurched, so disorienting that he inhaled sharply, audibly, through his nostrils. He looked at Echizen, certain the comment must have been calculated, but his face was unreadable. If he knew what he had just done, he wasn't letting on.

"I haven't seen Kaidoh," Inui said, every word sticking to the roof of his mouth, threatening to choke him. "For a long time."

Echizen continued to stare coolly, expressionless but for a single raised eyebrow. Inui knew he didn't have to say any more—he didn't owe Echizen, of all people, further explanation. But still he found himself fumbling on.

"It wasn't that I—" he began, but that wasn't the right start. "I wanted," he tried, but that wasn't it either. Finally, in resignation: "I don't even know where he lives anymore.”

Echizen didn't immediately respond. Inui spotted Hagiwara and Renji, on their way back now, laden with plastic trays full of food, and he turned away from them, hoping to compose himself before they returned.

"Here," Echizen said at length, effectively ruining any chance Inui might have had of achieving composure. "He lives here."

"There are somewhere between 1400 and 1600 calories on this plate," Hagiwara announced, her heels clicking loudly on the floor as she drew near, "and you are going to eat every last one of them, or else you're going to have to start drinking protein shakes at breakfast again."

Echizen snatched the tray out of her hands and started to chew sullenly on a rice ball. "I was getting hungry anyway."

"I believe Sadaharu has been working on a new drinkable protein compound he's rather excited about," Renji said, but Inui couldn't, in that moment, entertain even one more second of small talk.

"Excuse me," he said, rudely, he knew; he'd be getting a talking-to from Renji later about business etiquette. For now, he needed space, and a tap with cold water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will have some sexual activity, FYI!


	3. 816 Kilometers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inui remembers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is sexual content in this chapter! and some angst :'(

_Spring, 6 Years Earlier_

There was a party the weekend before Kaidoh's high school graduation ceremony. It wasn't a party only for Kaidoh, of course—it was at Momoshiro's uncle's house in the country, celebrating him and Arai and all the others Inui still secretly thought of as _second years_ —but Inui wouldn't have blocked off the weekend on his calendar months in advance for anyone else.

"You don't have to come if it's inconvenient," Kaidoh said into the phone, for the fourteenth time, as Inui packed his things.

"It's fine," Inui said, shifting his phone higher on his shoulder. "I made sure to get my work done ahead of time this week." In truth, university hadn't proved as challenging as Inui had been hoping thus far; he was finished with his work before the weekend not infrequently.

Kaidoh was silent for a while after that. Inui finished zipping his duffel bag and straightened up to look for his sweatshirt, which he found trapped under the wheel of his desk chair. It was a bit rumpled, but he pulled it on anyway.

"I'm quite looking forward to a weekend in the country," Inui added, once his head was through the neck of the sweatshirt. Kaidoh needed more than one reassurance, sometimes.

"All right." Kaidoh cleared his throat. "See you soon, Senpai."

A thrill shot up Inui's spine, from the small of his back to the base of his neck. "Five hours and fourteen minutes," he agreed, a bit stupidly, before hanging up.

He hadn't seen Kaidoh in months. Kyoto wasn't _that_ far from Tokyo, all things considered, but it was hard to scrounge up the money for the train ticket, and hard, too, to find excuses to meet Kaidoh when he did visit home, now that Inui no longer played tennis. They kept in regular contact, but Inuihad discovered early on that if he didn't initiate calls and texts, Kaidoh never said a thing.

It was frustrating. Even though they communicated almost daily, Kaidoh remained an enigma, a question Inui had spent the better part of five years trying to answer. Volumes upon volumes of notebooks filled with nothing but observations on the life and habits of _Kaidoh Kaoru_ , and still Inui had virtually nothing to show for it.

They had kissed exactly twice. The first time, it had earned Inui a bruised jaw, followed by four miserable weeks of Kaidoh steadfastly avoiding him, hanging up even before his phone calls could ring more than twice. Inui should have known better than to kiss Kaidoh without warning or invitation, but he had been growing desperate. Nothing within his realm of experience—nor even within his realm of extensive internet research—had given him a solution to the problem of being in love with your closest friend, especially when your closest friend seemed to show signs of loving you back and wanting to punch you in the jaw in almost equal parts. But it had been going on too long, and Inui was too near leaving forever to let a hypothesis go untested, even if it was a hypothesis made up more of hope than science.

The second time, exactly a month later, Kaidoh had kissed _him._

Specifically, Kaidoh had grabbed two fistfuls of Inui's shirt, shoved him against the cement wall of an embankment, and smashed their faces together, the day before Inui left for university. They made out for so long that Inui's mouth hurt when he surfaced for air. He also had three missed calls from his parents.

"I have to go," he'd said, perhaps not very convincingly; his hand was midway up Kaidoh's shirt, spread across Kaidoh's abdomen. "Do you—"

Kaidoh stepped back, quick, eyes cast down. "Sorry."

"Don't be—"

Inui's phone started ringing again, and he frowned at the screen. He was late for their last family dinner. "I'll call you," he said, taking the most reluctant step backwards in his memory. "Tonight. Soon."

Kaidoh still didn't look up, but he nodded.

He hadn't had much success getting Kaidoh to look at him again since then. They talked on the phone, but on the one occasion Inui had broached the topic of the kiss, Kaidoh hung up on him. And on the rare weekends when Inui was home and they managed to get together, usually for training, Kaidoh seemed hesitant about getting too close.

 _Don't get your hopes up._ Inui had been repeating it to himself ever since Kaidoh had invited him to the party; an easy habit to pick back up, since it had been something of a mantra all through high school. It was months since the Kaidoh-initiated kiss, and nothing in Kaidoh's words or actions since had given Inui reason to expect anything. Maybe it had been temporary insanity. Or, more likely, maybe he'd just done it because he felt guilty about the punching, and thought he owed Inui something after years of tailored training regimens.

Inui felt nervous, stepping off his train and onto the small platform in Itako. The no-longer-second-years were already at Momoshiro's uncle's house, so Inui retrieved his phone from his pocket, preparing to pull up the address on his GPS. But when he looked up, Kaidoh was there, standing just outside the ticket gate. He slipped his phone back into his pocket.

"Kaidoh," Inui said, stepping through the turnstile. He was smiling, but it was impossible not to keep a tone of surprise out of his voice. "You came to pick me up?"

Kaidoh's hands were stuffed in his pockets, and he only made eye contact in fleeting glances. "We needed more soda," he said. "The convenience store is close."

It was difficult to know what to make of that. "Ah," Inui said. He cleared his throat. "Well. It's good to see you."

Kaidoh's eyes stayed locked on Inui's for a little longer now. "You too," he said. Then he turned and began to lead the way. Inui hefted his bag higher on his shoulder and followed.

 

Momoshiro's uncle's house was large and impressive, old-fashioned but beautifully maintained. The noise of the party felt incongruous with the setting; Inui found that even after a drink had been pressed into his hands, he felt more inclined to study the woodwork than engage in party games or small talk.

The woodwork, or the side of Kaidoh's face, when he was in the room.

"Inui-Senpai!" Momoshiro's voice was loud as he slung an arm around Inui's shoulders, and his breath smelled strongly of whiskey, even though the party had only officially started two hours ago. "I can't believe it. I just can't believe it."

Inui reluctantly dragged his attention away from the back of Kaidoh's neck. His hair had gotten longer, in a way that looked uncharacteristically unkempt. Inui liked it.

"Momoshiro," Inui said with a smile. "I take it your uncle is out of town for the weekend."

"He left all this whiskey for us!" Momoshiro said, lifting his glass in a toast. Inui somehow doubted the veracity of the _"for us"_ part, but he toasted Momoshiro's glass anyway.

"How generous," Inui said, taking a swallow of his own drink. It was clearly spiked. "Congratulations again."

"Can you believe it, Senpai?"

"Believe what, exactly?"

Momoshiro gestured around the room. "That we made it! That it's all over!" He hiccuped, and then, quite without warning, his eyes started to well with tears. "It's all over…high school…Seigaku tennis club…."

Inui patted him on the shoulder, awkwardly. "You can still play tennis in university," he said.

Momoshiro turned shining eyes in Inui's direction. "Do you still play?"

"Well." Inui cleared his throat. "Not often, no."

Honesty was a mistake. Momoshiro burst into tears, burying his face into Inui's shirt.

Kaidoh whirled around, his gaze sharp as it fell on them. Something in his frown looked more disapproving than usual.

"I knew it!" Momoshiro wailed. "It's all over!"

Kaidoh stalked over to them, grabbing Momoshiro by the collar and jerking him away from Inui.

"Idiot," he snapped. "What are you doing?"

"Kaidoh! Our youth is over!" He was wailing louder now, and as soon as he was dislodged from Inui, he turned and wrapped his arms around Kaidoh's neck. It was Inui's turn to frown.

"Don't be an ass." Kaidoh put one hand on Momo's shoulder and one over his face, shoving him back. "Did you take shots again?"

Momoshiro's crying abruptly stopped. "Echizen dared me."

"Echizen!" Kaidoh barked, sounding exactly like a world-weary tennis club captain. "Get over here and clean up your mess."

Echizen was smirking when he came to collect Momoshiro. "Lighten up, Buchou," he said. "It's your graduation party."

Kaidoh turned away, ignoring both Echizen and Momoshiro's sudden resurgence of sobbing. "I'm going outside," he said, quietly. He looked sideways at Inui as he said it.

Of course Inui followed.

The stars were brighter in the countryside, the constellations easier to pick out far from Tokyo's lights. Inui couldn't appreciate them for too long, however; Kaidoh was leaning over the deck railing, his hair rumpling in the faint breeze, and suddenly, stars seemed rather mundane. Inui took another swallow of his drink, hoping, irrationally, that it might clear his head, before he approached Kaidoh's side.

"I imagine he's been doing that a lot lately."

Kaidoh snorted. "Sometimes three times a day."

"It's a natural time to feel emotional. Everyone says the high school years are the best of our lives." Inui smiled, but without much feeling. 

"Do you think they are?" Kaidoh asked.

Inui looked down into his now nearly empty cup. "That...remains to be seen."

They fell quiet again. Inside the house, a chorus of encouraging cheers rang out, followed by clapping and laughter. Kaidoh glared over his shoulder, then gripped the railing, his knuckles going white.

"Senpai," he said. "Do you want to walk?"

Inui's fingers curled around his cup. "I'd like that." 

Kaidoh waited for Inui to finish his drink, and then they made their way down the short flight of steps to the road. It wasn't so rural that there weren't paved roads, and a handful of other large houses dotted the nearby landscape, but everything was certainly quieter and more spread out compared to the city. Inui followed Kaidoh wordlessly, until the houses grew farther and farther apart and they were surrounded by little else than rice paddies and a few lonely trees. 

They stopped when they reached a poorly maintained shrine, hardly bigger than a shed. Kaidoh hesitated, as if he didn't know if they should stay or turn around and head right back.

"We should make a wish," Inui said quickly. He wasn't ready to return just yet.

"All right." Kaidoh stepped up onto the single step in front of the offering box and reached into his pockets. His withdrew his hands a moment later, still empty.

"Here." Inui leaned forward and pressed a fifty-yen coin into Kaidoh's palm.

Kaidoh, again, hesitated. "Thank you."

"It's lucky," Inui said, pressing. "It might help you in Sendai—"

His words got tangled up at that. They hadn't spoken much about Kaidoh's university plans, but Inui certainly thought about it, regularly. Specifically, he thought about the approximately 816 kilometers that would soon be separating them. Sendai had a good physical education program, and Inui knew he should be nothing but proud about Kaidoh getting into his first choice school. He never was a very good senpai that way.

The fifty-yen coin disappeared into Kaidoh's clenched fist. He turned, tossed the coin into the offertory box, clapped, and bowed. 

Inui swallowed. "What did you," he began, but that was when Kaidoh turned again, and grabbed Inui by the wrist, and dragged him around to the back of the shrine. Inui stumbled, maybe a little fuzzy from the alcohol but mostly just off-balance, both due to the dragging and to general bewilderment. 

They came to an abrupt stop when Kaidoh's back hit the wall of the shrine. Inui had nowhere to go, the toes of his shoes nearly touching Kaidoh's, and he steadied himself with one hand against the splintering wood. Belatedly, Inui realized this meant Kaidoh was trapped between his arm and the wall.

"Sorry, Kaidoh." But Kaidoh didn't let him step away; on the contrary, he grabbed Inui's elbow and held him close.

"Senpai," Kaidoh said. His fingers on Inui's arm were trembling.

It wasn't possible not to kiss him.

Kaidoh arched into it, breathing hard into Inui's mouth, his lips parting right away. It was uncharacteristically bold; Inui wondered if Kaidoh had been drinking too, but put the thought aside, well aware that the answer would make little difference. He pressed forward, one hand drifting down to rest at Kaidoh's waist, and was surprised when Kaidoh responded in kind, pressing a palm against Inui's shoulder blades at the same time that he started rucking up the front of his shirt. 

Inui shuddered, startled but not displeased, at the feel of Kaidoh's fingers on his stomach.

"Kaidoh," he warned. He wanted so much to focus only on this, their hands and Kaidoh's mouth and the pounding of his blood in his ears, but recalled too easily the harsh sting of rejections past, how each time it got harder to regain his footing.

_"Senpai,"_ Kaidoh said again. It was anxious, but annoyed, too, and left little room for argument.

_Stop thinking,_ Inui ordered himself. And he did.

He caught Kaidoh's mouth with his again, and pushed, hard, until Kaidoh was pressed firmly against the wall. His thigh worked up between Kaidoh's legs and Kaidoh turned his face to the side, hissing, the breath hot against Inui's neck. Inui dropped his palm to the front of Kaidoh's jeans and Kaidoh rolled his hips forward, right into it.

Inui couldn't have resumed thinking if he wanted to. Kaidoh was hot and hard and receptive, and Inui had been envisioning this for a very, very long time: Kaidoh's mouth on Inui's neck, his dick in Inui's hand, all the scrabbling and panting and occasional moaning that came along with it.

It was Inui who let out a gasp first, when Kaidoh came over his wrist and stomach. Kaidoh seemed past audible noises, reduced merely to shaking, his fingers curling and uncurling against Inui's waist and shoulders. 

"Kaidoh," Inui hummed, kissing Kaidoh's sweaty hair, then his temple. He was intending to say something meaningful: _You look so good. Thank you._

_I'm in love with you._

But Kaidoh moved too fast, robbing Inui of any opportunity to speak, flipping them around to slam Inui bodily against the wall.

There was nothing left to do but clutch at Kaidoh's shoulders and hold on. It was over in a quick, embarrassing blur—in Inui's defense, this scenario, almost verbatim, had served as his best fantasy fodder for most of their high school years—and then Kaidoh stepped back, and they were both still standing there, chests heaving, neither quite capable of making eye contact. 

"We should head back," Kaidoh said. 

Inui nodded, shakily, and started fixing his pants. Kaidoh had a few stray hairs out of place, sticking up very cutely on top of his head.

"You have—" he said, reaching forward. Kaidoh flinched, but didn't move, allowing Inui to smooth out his bangs.

_That's something,_ Inui thought. A tiny, timid spark of hope found a space to settle inside his chest.

They walked back in silence. Inui didn't know if that was normal or not; what was customary to say to someone after you jerked them off behind a place of worship? Also, was that bad luck?

When they reached the dirt drive leading up to Momoshiro's uncle's house again, they both paused, as if in mutual understanding. But still, Kaidoh didn't speak.

"I have an apartment," Inui said, carefully, only dredging up the courage out of fear that he if he waited any longer they would return to pretending nothing had ever happened. "You could come stay with me, sometime. Before you leave."

Kaidoh's silence stretched on so endlessly it felt oppressive. Inui was already formulating a clumsy, half-panicked way to redact the offer while still sounding casual when Kaidoh said, "Okay."

His eyes were turned toward the ground, but Inui caught the faintest curve of a smile on his lips. He couldn't appreciate it for long—Kaidoh turned and hurried up the back steps, disappearing through the sliding door into the house—but it didn't matter. It was the most hope Inui had dared to foster in a very long time.

He was still glowing as he followed Kaidoh back into the house, dizzy with happiness, already beginning to map out plans for Kaidoh's visit. He was thus caught unawares at being accosted the moment he stepped over the threshold.

"THERE YOU ARE! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? WE WERE JUST TALKING ABOUT YOU!"

Momoshiro's voice was loud even for Momoshiro, and mere centimeters away from Inui's ear. He cringed and tried to shrug out from under the arm that had been slung over his shoulders.

"I never knew you were such a STUD, Inui-Senpai," Momoshiro said.

Inui stopped trying to escape, instead going very still. "I—what?"

He glanced across the room to Kaidoh, wondering if they'd been found out somehow. Kaidoh was turned away, his shoulders hitched upward, defensive. There was a faint pink tinge to his cheeks.

"It's no use playing dumb," Momoshiro said. "Eiji told us ALL about it."

That was certainly a twist Inui hadn't been expecting. "Eiji?" Inui cast around, wondering if someone had forgotten to mention that he would be at the party too.

Momoshiro's free arm suddenly produced a phone, which he thrust into Inui's face.

"We were just texting," Momoshiro said. "He told us all about your WILD UNIVERSITY PARTIES."

The phone screen was too close, and Momoshiro's hand too unsteady, for Inui to be able to focus on the messages. Suddenly, though, the pieces were starting to fit together.

"Parties," Inui repeated. Eiji went to school in Osaka, a mere forty minutes away by train. They had gotten together a handful of times to reminisce, and once or twice to drink. The last time, Inui had had rather too much.

He had also kissed someone.

"That was nothing," Inui said, before he could stop himself. His stomach had plummeted abruptly to the floor. He knocked the phone out of his face, unwilling to attend to whatever blurry phone camera evidence Eiji had attached, and finally succeeded in getting Momoshiro to drop his arm. "It was just a game. We didn't—we didn't even know each other."

He was facing Kaidoh fully now, but Kaidoh was turned away, his shoulders hunched. He must have already seen the picture; he didn't seem interested in listening further to what Momoshiro had to say.

"So it was ANONYMOUS? Man, I can't wait for university. That's the life. You're living the life, Senpai."

Inui could say nothing, couldn't even find a word to contradict Momoshiro's teasing. He wanted to grab Kaidoh by the biceps and whirl him around, wanted to explain, to shout it at him— _it was nothing, only a joke, only once, only after you hung up the day I tried to talk about the kiss, then never again_ —but he knew better. He'd spent years studying Kaidoh's posture, the sharp, angry curve of his spine when he was feeling murderous, and anyone who made the mistake of touching him right now would end up with a black eye or worse.

"I'm going to bed." Kaidoh said it like a curse, the words raspy, tearing out of his throat. No one was foolish enough to try and stop him as he marched out of the room.

"What's up with him?" Momoshiro said, turning cluelessly toward Inui, then Echizen.

Echizen sighed. Inui wilted, and stumbled into the kitchen, and let a second year whose name he couldn't remember press a new drink into his hands.

 

If he slept, it was only a few restless minutes, in between fits of anxious tossing and turning. He suffered from bouts of insomnia not infrequently, but never had he spent a night so miserable, desperate to fix a problem he knew may very well be irreparable. At the first sound of movement in the morning, Inui threw off his covers and hurried to the kitchen, guessing correctly that Kaidoh would be first one up. He was standing next to the sink, filling a glass of water. He jolted when Inui entered in the room, then bent over the basin, focusing more intently on his glass.

"Kaidoh," Inui said.

Kaidoh took a drink of water and said nothing.

"I'd like to explain, about—"

Kaidoh put the glass down, too forcefully. Water sloshed over its sides. "You don't have to explain anything."

Inui hesitated. He had spent _years_ learning how to communicate effectively with Kaidoh, but just now he felt as lost as when they'd first met, struggling even to string together a few coherent words.

"Of course," he said, fumbling. "But, I just think—if you only knew the context—"

"It's fine." Kaidoh rarely interrupted him, and Inui knew to shut his mouth when he did. "I don't want to know." 

Seconds ticked by, excruciatingly slow. Kaidoh downed the rest of his water, but continued to hold the glass in an iron grip, knuckles white.

"All right," Inui said at length. There was no pushing Kaidoh when he was like this—it was either give up or chase him away. He tried changing the subject. "When do you leave for Sendai?"

Kaidoh didn't immediately answer. He took so long, in fact, that Inui felt himself growing panicky; like an idiot, he plowed ahead, too fast.

"You could still visit me," he said, almost breathless. "Anytime. I'm not very busy right now."

"Sure," Kaidoh said, but his voice was flat, and there wasn't even a hint of the smile Inui had spotted the night before. "Maybe."

Inui knew, even before Kaidoh excused himself and fled the room, it was hopeless.

He hadn't seen or spoken to Kaidoh since.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for putting up with a bit of angst and a lengthy flashback! Will be back to present timeline in the next chapter.


	4. Infinite Yous, Infinite Possibilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Renji has a date, and Inui regales his housekeeper with contemplations of parallel universes.

There were two full days before the housekeeper came again, and Inui was not proud of the damage he did in the meantime. He studied the living room as he knotted his tie on Friday morning, wondering if he should try to pick up at least a few beer cans and trash bags before he left, but he was already only a few minutes ahead of running late. He spotted the note he had written for his cleaner on the coffee table, and bent to add another:

_I am really very sorry. Do you like beer? Please help yourself to beer. Or protein gels. They're in the fridge. My own recipe._

He had nothing else to offer that wasn't likely to be growing several varieties of mold, so he left the note as is, and grabbed himself a protein gel for breakfast. They had the added benefit of easing hangover symptoms, and Inui may or may not have been nursing a moderate headache this morning. He had read somewhere that low-risk drinking allowed for no more than 4 alcoholic beverages on any given day and 14 in a week; by his own approximate calculations, he was averaging double that.

There was a dry-erase board on the side of his fridge, a gift from Renji, intending to help him keep better track of weekly meetings. (It hadn't worked, but digital calendar invites had mostly solved the problem.) Inui paused, then scrubbed away the rough recipe notes scrawled months ago and uncapped the marker. He wrote himself a list, numbered, in capital letters, so it would be harder to ignore.

_1\. FIX DISHWASHER_

_2\. DRINK LESS_

He re-capped the marker, opened his protein gel, and left for the office.

 

"Renji. Do you have my housekeeper's phone number?"

Renji startled at the question, which was unusual, considering Inui had not spoken loudly, and they'd been sitting side by side in the conference room for the past two hours. Inui was about to comment on it, but Renji responded quickly, dropping his pen and pushing away his paperwork.

"Why?" he said. His tone, too, was sharp.

"I wanted to apologize for the mess."

Renji picked up the pen again. He did not, however, resume writing. "It's a housekeeper's job to deal with mess. I'm sure they'll be fine."

"I also want to be able to let them know if my schedule changes. 12 hour notice, you said."

Renji furrowed his brow and stared at the paperwork in front of him. He had the look of someone trying to work out a complicated equation.

"Fine," Renji said at length. He picked up his phone, tapped the screen a few times, and within moments Inui was receiving a shared contact.

 _Sadaharu's Housekeeper_ , the contact information said, followed by a phone number. Inui saved it and then rested his phone on the tabletop.

"Just try not to bother them too much," Renji said, voice casual, in an act he should have known was far too transparentto convince Inui for even a moment. "It's not their job to entertain your 2 a.m. musings about multiverse theory."

"Why are you being so…" Inui started, but he could only wave his hand vaguely to finish the question.

"I'm not," Renji said.

This was objectively untrue, but before Inui could point out as much, Renji changed the subject.

"I was thinking, Sadaharu. You need to get out more."

Inui lifted his eyebrows. "Oh?"

The paperwork lay completely forgotten, now, despite an impending 6:00 deadline, and Renji pushed it even farther across the table, setting his most serious gaze on Inui. "I know someone. A friend of a friend. He's a marine biologist. I think you'd get along."

A weight settled, heavy on Inui's chest, and he cleared his throat loudly. "No, thank you."

"Sadaharu." Renji was sighing now, pinching the bridge of his nose. He did that a lot recently. "You need to meet new people. You can't just pine over the same high school crush until—"

Inui stood, the palms of his hands hitting the tabletop too loudly, and Renji fell silent.

"I'm fine," Inui repeated, aware his unsteady voice betrayed the lie. "And what about your romantic life?"

Renji paused, folding his hands carefully, one on top of the other. "Actually, I'm getting drinks with Hagiwara-san tonight."

The shift in focus from Inui back to Renji should have been comforting, but somehow Inui felt worse, a hot, embarrassed sort of flush spreading up the back of his neck. "Hagiwara-san," he repeated. "I see. I hope you enjoy yourselves.”

Neither of them moved or spoke. Inui counted to ten before another sigh from Renji broke the silence.

“I didn’t intend to upset you, Sadaharu.”

“I’m not upset,” Inui said. He turned away from the table, toward the conference room door, shoulders stiff. “Coffee?”

Renji nodded, but even after Inui returned with two fresh cups, neither of them drank much.

 

When he got home that night—well after 8:30, Renji would be late meeting Hagiwara—Inui’s apartment was sparkling, the note from the coffee table gone. There was nothing written on the blank pad of paper in return, and to his surprise, Inui realized he was disappointed. He opened the fridge, and was further disappointed to find the same number of beers and protein gels remaining. The only difference to his fridge at all was that every trace of moldy or expired food had disappeared, and the shelves had been scrubbed until shining.

Inui glanced briefly at his white board list, particularly #2— _DRINK LESS—_ before retrieving one of the beers and cracking it open on his way to the living room. It was Friday night, after all. He settled into his usual spot on the couch, turned on the TV, and took out his phone, pulling up _Sadaharu’s Housekeeper._

_Hello. This is Inui. I believe you’ve been cleaning my apartment. Thank you for your hard work. I will get the dishwasher repaired soon, so please be patient. By the way, could I get your name?_

He sent the message and turned his attention on the TV. He had recorded more of the Open, but there was a Science View special on primordial nucleosynthesis he’d been looking forward to, so he started with that. Ten minutes in, his phone, on the cushion to his left, buzzed.

The first message was short, and very polite: _It’s my job, so please don’t apologize._

Inui’s phone told him _Sadaharu’s Housekeeper_ was still typing, so Inui waited to put it back down. Shortly, it buzzed again in his hands.

_My name is Nishikori._

He had used a masculine pronoun, which surprised Inui slightly. He took a moment to update Nishikori’s contact information.

 _Nice to meet you,_ Inui sent. Nishikori sent the same message back, and Inui returned his attention to Science View.

Half an hour and another beer into the special, the narrator began explaining multiverse theory. Inui smiled, surprised, and picked up his phone, intending to text Renji, before he realized he would be interrupting a date. His thumb hovered over Renji’s name. It really was an interesting topic, and the alcohol had him buzzing with a warm desire for conversation. After a moment, he pulled up Nishikori instead.

_What do you think about the idea of parallel universes?_

For the next six minutes, there was nothing. Inui gave up, not entirely shocked. When he returned from his trip to the kitchen for a third beer and a cup noodle, however, there was a message waiting.

 _Did you mean to send this to me, sir?_ Nishikori asked. His tone remained as formal as possible.

_Call me Inui. And yes. It’s really very fascinating, don’t you agree?_

There was another long pause. Occasionally, a bubble would appear to indicate Nishikori was typing, but it would disappear a few seconds later. The cycle continued for a while. Inui patiently worked on his noodles.

Finally, a response came. _I don’t know much about it._

That was promising. Inui decided to open the messaging app on his laptop, so he could type more quickly.

_It’s fairly simple. Imagine that during the Big Bang, it was not only this universe that came into being, but innumerable other mirror universes. Few scientists are in agreement as to what this might look like, but one theory suggests that for every choice you make, there exists another universe in which you make the opposite choice. An infinite number of yous, living an infinite number of possibilities. I find the idea comforting._

A very, very long pause this time. Inui only distantly attended to the second half of Science View, distracted by Nishikori’s typing bubble on his screen—still periodically appearing and disappearing—as well as the multiverse Wiki he had pulled up to refresh his understanding.

Five minutes of typing, and at last, Nishikori’s message came. It was one word.

_Comforting?_

Inui couldn’t decide if this response was meant to show interest or irritation. He elaborated, because he couldn’t help himself.

 _There are no mistakes, in a reality where you have made every possible choice simultaneously,_ he explained. Then, just in case, he added, _Sorry. Am I bothering you?_

 _I see._ This response came relatively quickly, as did the next: _You’re not bothering me._

A warmth spread from Inui’s chest up to his ears, which he could, if he wished, believably attribute to the beer.

He let himself go.

_Of course, this is only assuming you ascribe to Everett. According to other theorists, a parallel you might not exist at all._

Inui fell asleep hours later, his own theoretical suppositions having been met with brusque, but consistent, encouragement from Nishikori, and he noted, just before dozing off on the couch, that for a change, he didn’t feel even the slightest bit lonely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case there happen to be any physicists reading this chapter: Please forgive me. All my multiverse understanding comes from Wikipedia and 14 minutes of a YouTube documentary.


	5. Thunder Only Happens When it's Raining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which cocktail parties are had, plans are made, and dreams don't mean anything at all.

It was another dream about Kaidoh. Inui could tell it was a dream, but distantly, and fruitlessly, because it gave him no more power to wake up from it. They were in a train car, empty but for the two of them. Kaidoh was seated, and Inui was standing, looking out the window. He kept looking out the window even when Kaidoh called out to him: "Senpai." Inui ignored him. The part of him that knew it was a dream didn't want to, but that part had no control over the Inui on the train.

"Senpai."

The train was suddenly at a complete, gentle stop, without having slowed to a stop at all, and Inui was walking out the doors. Kaidoh tried to follow, but Inui was losing him in the crowd of commuters. Kaidoh called to him again, and Inui walked faster. In a flash, Inui was gone, along with the train platform and all the commuters, and Kaidoh was alone. He was standing in a barren, icy field, the only person visible for miles. His breath came out in visible puffs in the cold air.

Then Kaidoh turned, looking directly at the Inui who knew this was a dream, and was watching him in the field.

"Senpai," he said.

Inui's phone alarm sounded.

He was both sorry and not sorry to have been interrupted. A part of him was curious, for sure, and he was also feeling the effects of disturbed REM sleep, acutely. But another part was afraid of what dream-Kaidoh had been trying to say.

Inui kept his eyes closed as he let his heart rate return to normal. It was a full minute before he opened them, and looked at the time on his phone—7:16—and recalled, thanks to a calendar alert, that the work day would feel longer than usual, thanks to a mandatory business party that night.

He took a deep breath, sat up straighter, and tapped out a message to Nishikori.

_What are your thoughts about dream symbolism?_

 

The party was to celebrate the debut of Hakaju's new advertising campaign. Echizen's photos had been blown up, larger than life size, and hung all along the walls of the event space, twenty portraits at least, so you couldn't walk more than a few steps without accidentally meeting his glowering eyes. While Inui could appreciate the aesthetic appeal, he still felt vaguely uneasy, sipping cocktails and making small talk while Echizen glared at him from a dozen different angles at once.

"You're fortunate to have snagged sponsorship of Echizen when he's still fresh," someone was saying, an older product manager with the company that produced their laces, whose name Inui should have been able to recall but was lost in the blur of too many faces in one evening. "He'll be big soon. His match against Sakimoto was one of the best I've seen. And he's got a good face for ads."

"Inui and Echizen are old friends from school," Renji explained. "He's here, somewhere."

"In a sense, he's here _everywhere,"_ Inui said, glancing over his shoulder. The portrait just behind him featured Echizen shirtless, seated on a throne of feathers, wearing a pair of cut-off shorts and just one athletic shoe. "Where do you suppose the other shoe went?" Inui mused. "You'd think for the price of the shoot, they could have at least included both in the photo."

Renji cleared his throat in the way that meant a subject change was in order.

"Ah, there he is now," Inui said, spotting the real Echizen in a corner. He was alone, and no less miserable-looking than any of the portraits, but considerably less intimidating, if only by virtue of size. "Please excuse me."

Echizen looked up immediately as Inui approached, an expression of genuine relief on his face. Neither of them ever was particularly good at socializing.

"No cocktails?" Inui asked, lifting his glass to clink with Echizen's, which only appeared to contain water.

"I'm not allowed to drink," Echizen said. "Qualifiers for the Rakuten are in two months."

"More than enough time to recover from the effects of one beverage," Inui said.

A caterer passed by with a tray of champagne flutes, and Inui took one, pressing it into Echizen's free hand. Echizen hesitated, eyes scanning the crowd.

"I believe I just saw Renji and Hagiwara-san step out onto the balcony," Inui offered. He lifted his own glass again, and Echizen shrugged and lifted his flute in cheers. He drained the contents in two swallows.

"Enjoying the party?" Inui asked.

Echizen wrinkled his nose. "It's weird."

Inui hummed his agreement. He was regularly reminded of just how young he was to be a part of this world, and it was never more obvious than in settings such as these, surrounded by balding salarymen in expensive black suits. He imagined Echizen could relate.

"The photos look nice," Inui said at length, because he thought he ought to.

Echizen threw him a look of utter disgust. Inui couldn't help himself; he laughed.

"Well," he amended. "I'm sure they'll catch people's attention."

"You can't even see shoes in half of them," Echizen grumbled. Inui would have agreed, but just at that moment he caught sight of Renji and Hagiwara, headed in from the balcony. He grabbed the champagne flute out of Echizen's hand, making a show of pretending to drain it as Hagiwara approached.

"Hagiwara-san," Inui said, setting down the empty flute as he turned to smile at her. "Renji. We were just discussing the Rakuten. How many calories are you up to a day now, Echizen? I trust you've been sticking faithfully to your diet."

Hagiwara's eyes were narrowed slightly as she looked from the champagne flute on the table to the still-half-full cocktail in Inui's other hand, but Echizen was wearing his most convincing mask of bored innocence.

"I'm hungry," Echizen said, which didn't actually answer Inui's question, but did an admirable job of diverting Hagiwara completely.

"I'll get you a plate!" she said.

"The mackerel is very good," Renji said, gesturing to a table with a spread of fish and appetizers nearby. Hagiwara and Echizen moved toward it, arguing about portioning, and Inui took the opportunity to take out his phone.

He had no new messages, but that was no surprise. Still, he opened his chat history with Nishikori and scrolled back a few messages, reviewing their conversation from earlier in the day.

_Dream symbolism?_

_The idea that the events and images we see in our dreams can be assigned meaning, and perhaps even used to interpret our subconscious needs and guide real-life decisions._

_I don't usually remember my dreams._

_That's a shame. Although it might in fact indicate you are well-rested. Studies have found those who recall dreams better tend to wake up more frequently throughout the night._

_I see._

_I myself have never been a good sleeper. But I do find the interpretation of subconscious symbolism interesting, if ultimately unscientific._

_You aren't sleeping well?_

_It varies. Did you know snow or ice in a dream is often interpreted to signify emotional paralysis and frigidity?_

_I didn't know that._

_Again, it's all utterly unscientific. But interesting._

_I hope you start sleeping better soon._

Inui hadn't been able to help smiling at that, and he smiled again, re-reading it now.

"Who are you talking to?" Renji asked.

Inui startled; he hadn't realized Renji had stayed beside him, rather than accompanying Echizen and Hagiwara.

"Oh," Inui said. He blinked down at his screen, then slipped the phone back in his pocket. "My housekeeper."

Renji inhaled sharply. "Sadaharu," he said, words clipped, "why are you writing novel-length messages to your housekeeper?"

"His name is Nishikori," Inui said. "He's really very pleasant, and he enjoys conversations about science. And athletics." Inui paused. "Well. Seems to enjoy them. He's not particularly verbose, but he is more than encouraging."

It was true. It had been only two weeks since Inui first contacted Nishikori, but already he'd fallen into a habit of messaging him at least twice a day, occasionally under the guise of something related to the apartment, but often just prompted by whatever was on Inui's mind. So far, he had not been met with any obvious signs of annoyance, nor attempts to cut the conversations short. It was refreshing, and warming, and quickly becoming Inui's favorite part of the day.

A few moments passed, and Inui realized Renji had not responded. Inui frowned, opening his mouth to ask what was wrong, but Renji's expression silenced him. He was glaring, studying Inui's face with a kind of ferocious intensity usually reserved for something under a microscope. Inui felt as if he were under a microscope, himself; he shifted in place, uncomfortable.

"Renji?" he said.

Renji's expression did not change. "Nishikori," he said.

Inui cocked his head. "Nishikori," he repeated.

The line of Renji's jaw visibly tensed, then relaxed. He took a step back and finally turned away, fixing his eyes on Hagiwara and Echizen at the food table.

"When was the last time you spoke to Kaidoh?" he said.

Inui tensed at the unexpectedly abrupt shift. "You know it's been years," he said. He did not add anything about his dream last night.

Renji was still staring at the table, or at Hagiwara, or Echizen, or all three. "I'd like you to meet my friend," he said. "It doesn't have to be a date. I can arrange a small group get-together." He paused, then added, softly, "Sadaharu, please."

It was difficult, when Renji talked to him like that, to say no to anything.

"All right," Inui said, though it made his stomach twist unpleasantly.

"Thank you." Renji squeezed his shoulder before stepping away. Hagiwara and Echizen had just returned, and Renji fell in beside Hagiwara, bending to say something low next to her ear. She laughed.

"Eat this."

Inui turned, surprised to find Echizen behind him, using his body as a shield to hide from Hagiwara. He was holding out some sort of rolled-up fish appetizer with a look of distaste.

"Quick," Echizen urged. "She's distracted."

Inui shrugged, then obliged. "You don't like the catering?" he asked, through a mouthful of fish and something he hadn't been expecting. Cream cheese?

"I don't like weird food." The rest of Echizen's plate was more traditional: fish and fried chicken and gyoza. He stepped out of hiding from behind Inui as he began to eat.

Inui finished chewing the appetizer—it hadn't been bad, but he personally felt it would be improved with a little mustard—and cleared his throat. Renji's unexpected questioning had put him in a strange mood.

"You said," Inui began, choosing his words carefully, eyes on Renji the whole time, to make certain his attention was elsewhere. "Before. You said Kaidoh is—or rather, that he lives—"

"Here," Echizen finished for him, before popping a piece of chicken into his mouth. He lifted an eyebrow and tilted his head. "Do you want me to—"

"No," Inui said quickly. "I just wanted—" He cleared his throat again. "He's doing well?"

Echizen considered the question, still chewing. "He's okay," he said at length. "We play tennis sometimes."

The idea that Kaidoh was, completely unbeknownst to Inui, not only here, but still playing tennis—still playing tennis with _Echizen_ —was rather a lot to bear.

"I see," he said, with some difficulty. He forced a thin smile on his lips. "Thank you."

"You could come sometime," Echizen said. His voice was casual, but deliberately so, and Inui wasn't fooled.

"No," Inui said, with the same unconvincing smile. "I'm out of practice. But thank you."

Echizen looked as if he was about to say something else, but then Hagiwara interjected, for which Inui was extremely grateful.

"Yanagi just told me you'll be joining us at the aquarium!" she said, beaming at Inui. "That's wonderful! I think you and Umino will really hit it off."

"Yes," Inui said, ignoring the way Echizen was looking at him. "I'm looking forward to it."

At exactly that moment, another tray of cocktails passed by, and Inui took one, grateful to have something to wash down both the food and conversation. Suddenly, there was a very bad taste in his mouth.


	6. A Certain Charm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Inui thinks about eels a lot.

_Good morning. Good news: The dishwasher is being repaired today. I’m sorry it’s taken so long._

_It’s okay. It hasn’t been a problem._

_The repair person will arrive between 2 and 3. It should take about an hour. You may want to come later, so you aren’t inconvenienced._

_What time do you usually get home?_

_It varies. But typically not before 7._

_Okay. I can be finished by 5._

_Fantastic._

 

Inui smiled at his phone for most of his commute to work, a little guiltily. It was slightly dishonest of him, because while he did _typically_ return home around 7 or later, he had every intention of being early today. Quite early, in fact. He had already set a phone alert to remind himself: _Home by 4:30._

He wasn’t entirely sure why he wanted so badly to meet Nishikori in person, but had, in fact, been looking for an excuse to make their paths cross for weeks now. Nishikori stuck very strictly to his cleaning schedule, and the paperwork Inui had signed had specifically stated that homeowners were required to inform housekeepers if they would be present during a scheduled cleaning period. Still, there was plausible deniability—he had only specified when he _typically_ returned, not made any promise that that would hold true today. And, surely, after all their conversations, Nishikori must have harbored some desire to meet him in person, as well. Inui couldn’t see any reason why it shouldn’t go well.

“Good morning!” Their receptionist greeted Inui cheerfully as he stepped into the office, and he reluctantly tucked his phone away. “Yanagi-san would like to see you right away.”

“Thank you,” Inui said.

Renji was seated at the desk in their shared office, but jumped to his feet the moment Inui opened the door.

“Sadaharu,” he said. He was smiling, far too excited for 8:00 on a Friday morning. “We received an inquiry last night.”

“Oh?”

“From Endo’s personal assistant. At Momoiro.”

Inui had been in the process of seating himself at his own desk, but he stopped at that, one hand on the back of his chair. “Momoiro Sports?” he clarified. It was the second-largest sporting goods distributor in the country, a name he and Renji would throw around back in their university days, when they were just starting to work out whether Hakaju might have a chance of becoming a reality.

“Momoiro Sports,” Renji confirmed. “They’ve seen Echizen’s advertising campaign. They want to meet to discuss the possibility of starting to carry Hakaju shoes.”

Inui sat now, heavily, still staring at Renji in disbelief. “Starting to carry….” He trailed off, unable to finish the thought. “That would mean—“

“It would mean a great deal of things,” Renji said, completing the sentence when Inui could not. “A real factory, for starters, that we don’t have to share with anyone else. We could stop outsourcing materials and produce everything in-house. Sadaharu, this could mean _tripling_ our number of employees. Not to mention our profits.”

Inui didn’t know what to do with his face. It was exciting, of course, but alarming, too. They’d only been a full-fledged company for two years, and already Inui had more money than he knew what to do with. He sent some home to his parents from time to time, but had no idea what else to do with it, what he’d do with even _more._ It made him feel strangely guilty, having fallen into success so easily. Wasn’t it supposed to be harder than this?

“That,” Inui said at length, because Renji was watching him expectantly, “is very promising.”

“Endoh wants to arrange an informal meeting for next week,” Renji said. “No lawyers or paperwork, just getting to know one another. It will be important to make a good impression.”

If there was a hint of anxiety in Renji’s tone, he hid it well. Still, Inui knew him too well to miss what he was getting at.

“Of course,” Inui said. He smiled, hoping to reassure. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Renji’s shoulders relaxed, perceptible only if you were accustomed to studying his posture. “I’ll have Imamura take care of arranging the time and place,” he said, transitioning smoothly.

“Excellent.”

“We can consider tonight a celebration, then.”

“Tonight?” Inui looked up when Renji didn’t immediately reply, and was met with an exasperated frown.

“You forgot already? The aquarium. With Hagiwara and Umino. We’ll have to leave at 4:30 to make it on time.”

Inui’s stomach plummeted. “The aquarium,” he repeated. “Tonight.”

“Tonight,” Renji reiterated. Inui’s expression must have made clear just how welcome this reminder was, because he went on, “You promised, Sadaharu. And it would be incredibly rude to cancel last-minute.”

Inui swallowed, thinking unhappily of Nishikori. “Right,” he agreed. “Of course. I’m looking forward to it.”

He busied himself then with deleting the _Home by 4:30_ alert from his phone, but when he finished and looked up again, Renji was still frowning at him.

 

By the time they arrived at the aquarium, it was almost entirely empty, save their small group and a smattering of employees closing up shops or cleaning. Umino had arranged for them to be allowed in after hours, which made for an unusual, but admittedly nice, visit.

“The penguins are being fed in the next five minutes or so,” Umino said, gesturing them down a corridor past a sign with two cartoon penguins making a heart shape with their flippers. “It’s always fun to watch.”

“It’s very kind of you to give us a behind-the-scenes tour,” Hagiwara said.

Umino smiled pleasantly. He was short—almost as short as Hagiwara herself—but handsome enough, with a kind face and rumpled hair that kept falling in front of his glasses. He was intelligent, and friendly, and easy to talk to. For some reason, Inui found this all rather irritating.

“Do you have an aquatic animal you particularly like, Inui-san?” Umino asked.

“Ah,” Inui said, hesitating as he thought it over. “Eels, I suppose.”

They had arrived at the penguins now, to the delight of Hagiwara in particular, who was snapping photos incessantly as the penguins twirled through the water pursuing fish tossed by a trainer. Renji was attending to Hagiwara as much as the penguins themselves, in his own quiet, unreadable way. It made Inui feel vaguely uncomfortable watching them, so he cleared his throat and tried to focus on Umino instead.

“Eels!” Umino gave a surprised laugh and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Unusual choice. Most people find them unpleasant. I have to admit, I’ve always thought they were quite ugly.”

Inui smiled, tight-lipped, and pretended to study a plaque with information about penguin chicks. “They have a certain charm,” he said.

He’d been trying his best, since stepping foot in the aquarium, to keep from thinking too hard about the last time he’d been here. But he felt his resolve slipping; he closed his eyes and exhaled, recalling the memory with perfect clarity. _A Saturday, during his second year of high school, at the aquarium with the rest of the tennis club. He and Kaidoh had let themselves be separated from the others, and they were alone but for a few couples and families, peering through the glass at a moray sticking out of a bed of coral. Kaidoh nearly had his nose pressed to the glass, he was watching so intently._

_“It seems to like you,” Inui said._

_Kaidoh looked startled, then flushed, glancing with narrowed eyes from Inui back to the eel, as if expecting to be made fun of. “It’s weird,” he said._

_“I’ve heard eels are smart, and surprisingly friendly, even if they don’t look it. Sometimes they play games with divers. And watch the way it moves when it swims.”_

_Another eel was gliding toward them, fins rippling with a strange sort of grace that could almost be described as beautiful. Kaidoh didn’t say anything more, but they stood there for a long time after, until both eels had disappeared into the coral, out of sight._

_Later, when they stopped at the gift shop, Kaidoh had been drawn directly toward a very small basket full of stuffed moray eels. They seemed lonely in their tiny basket, forgotten in the midst of much cuter stuffed toys, penguins and octopuses and otters and baby seals._

_“Do you want one?” Inui asked._

_Kaidoh had blushed and scoffed and turned away, hands stuffed in his pockets._

_An hour later, on the train ride back home, Kaidoh fell asleep on Inui’s shoulder using the stuffed eel as a pillow. Fuji had snapped a photo, which he immediately sent to the entire team, and Inui would never forget Kaidoh’s flushed surprise at pulling out his phone when he woke up, the way he’d looked cautiously from Inui to his screen, then back to Inui again._

_“Sorry,” he said, quietly. And then, “Thank you, Senpai.”_

“Inui-san?”

Inui blinked, realizing his cheeks were warm and Umino was watching him expectantly, as if waiting for an answer.

“Sorry,” Inui said. “What was that?”

Umino was watching him with an eyebrow raised. “I hope I didn’t, ah, offend you. If you like, the morays should just be getting fed as well. They’re only a little ways away.”

“No,” Inui said, scratching the back of his neck and willing his blush to fade. “No, I’m all right, thank you.”

They spent most of the rest of the evening in silence, exchanging only occasional, polite words. Hagiwara and Renji did what they could to keep the atmosphere light, and none of it was unpleasant, exactly. The aquarium was calm and peaceful, dinner afterward satisfying, the conversation somewhat forced but not uncomfortable. And yet, Inui felt nothing but overwhelming relief when they finally reached the point of saying their goodbyes, just outside the entrance to his subway stop.

“It was good to meet you, Inui-san,” Umino said. His smile was genuine, but not, Inui thought, particularly hopeful.

“You too. Thank you very much for the tour.” Inui tried not to make eye contact with Renji, knowing full well that if he did, he would wilt under the weight of his disappointment. “Please excuse me.”

He bowed to Umino, Renji, and Hagiwara in turn, then hurried down the steps into the subway. Hagiwara and Renji were going to wait for a taxi, and Umino had a car back at the aquarium.

It took him some time to work up the courage, but somewhere around half an hour into his commute, after he’d transferred to a second train line, Inui pulled up Fuji’s number and sent him a hastily composed message.

_Fuji. I hope you’re doing well. Strange request, but please indulge me: Do you still have any photos from our high school trip to the aquarium? Sometime in second year? I remember you taking several._

Inui stuffed his phone away then, embarrassed, and refused to look at it again until he was home.

The first thing Inui noticed, once he’d stepped out of his shoes in the genkan and turned on the lights, was that his dishwasher had been not repaired, but instead, replaced. There was a scrawled note taped to a new brand-new manual on the countertop, beside his receipt: _PLEASE REFER TO MANUAL BEFORE USING YOUR NEW DISHWASHER._ _DO NOT_ _PUT GARBAGE IN DISHWASHER. RUN_ _BEFORE_ _DISHES CAN GROW BLACK MOLD. BLACK MOLD_ _NOT COVERED UNDER WARRANTY._

Inui dropped the note and opened the new dishwasher to look it over, testing the door a few times before heading to the fridge for a beer. He was just about to grab the manual to bring into the living room when he spotted another note, this one in Nishikori’s small, tidy handwriting, next to a box of pills Inui had never seen before.

 _To help you sleep,_ the note said. Inui picked up the box and read: _Dream-Well! Get the Zzz’s you deserve, every night._ There was a drawing of a kitten sleeping on a pillow in the corner.

Inui’s heart stuttered. He looked at the box for a very long time, forgetting the user manual entirely and bringing it back to the couch with him to turn over and over in his hands, reading and rereading the recommended uses, warnings, and active ingredients.

 _Thank you,_ he sent, only having pulled up Nishikori’s name on his phone after starting his second beer. _That was very kind of you._

A typing bubble appeared under Nishikori’s name only a few seconds later.

 _I hope you can get some rest,_ was his reply. _Please take care of yourself._

Inui stared at the message, chewing thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek. He had absolutely no reason to feel so _drawn in_ by Nishikori—hardly knew the first thing about him, beyond his job and his name, and that he was thoughtful, clearly, but that wasn’t so special. Umino had seemed thoughtful, too. So why wasn’t Inui plotting ways to see him again, a real person he had already met, handsome and smart and charming?

 _I was wondering,_ Inui began to type, slow and uncertain, _if you might want, sometime, if you’re not busy, to_

His phone buzzed with a different message, and a preview of a familiar photo popped up, beside the name _Fuji._ Inui tapped on it immediately, inhaling sharply as the picture filled his screen, the scene almost exactly as he had remembered it. There was Kaidoh, asleep on his shoulder, cheek smooshed against the stuffed eel. Inui’s head was resting on Kaidoh’s, his eyes closed even though he hadn’t been asleep. Kaidoh’s hand was, just barely, touching the top of Inui’s leg; Inui had, improbably, forgotten that.

 _This was all I could find,_ Fuji said. _Is that something like what you were looking for?_

 _Thank you,_ Inui said, because he could think of nothing else. Knowing Fuji, he’d pay for the favor later, but he put that worry aside for now. And then, burning with a strange wave of shame and guilt, he switched back to his chat with Nishikori. He deleted everything he had typed previously.

 _Thank you,_ he said again. Some time passed, and he continued staring at Nishikori’s name, but no typing bubble appeared in response. Inui thought, as he rose and made his way to the bedroom, it was possibly the shortest conversation he and Nishikori had ever had.

He took two pills before collapsing into bed, and fell asleep still holding the box. It was crushed under his elbow when he woke up, eleven hours later, the most sleep he’d had in one go in as long as he could remember. Still, he felt unpleasantly foggy for most of the next day, and found himself wishing, inexplicably, that he could remember his dreams.


End file.
